Sweetie

Sweetie

The hallways got very cold at night.

  The humans weren't to blame, of course, nothing existed in the museums cold and mettalic walls at night that required heat.
  The retro black and white tiled floors of yesteryear made no protest to temperature or pressure; They only ever uttered light echoes of activity, a secondary layer of noise beneath the humdrum of those with beating hearts.
  The museums star artifacts made no utterance of disdain that they could. They all merely stood in place; Humanoid automatons of all make and build on display, from those of sturdy metal and plastic to those of Silicon skin that mimicked real flesh and bone. 

Some were kept on power supplies, capable of speaking to visitors about their model. Other models, however, remained in more permanent slumbers; poor machines whose parts went out of production years ago.

  They all stood inert now, unreacting to the cold as the ground their displays sat on. Unbothered as the fogged glass of Deliciae's glass box where the android sat on a black cube on her knees. 
  
  Deliciae had been locked in place for so long her internal timer had bled dry; days repetition turning into a limbolike cycle. She sat in the box-like display, hands cupped forward and smiling flirtatiously as a laungiere' poster. She was lifelike, displayed in a simple black bra and undergarment. She was connected with a cylindrical attachment hidden under her legs to the display, allowing small electrical currents to light up her eyes and various LED's.
 
  A machine like Deliciae had no need for warmth; though, that didn't stop her from repeatedly searching her drives for the memory of its feeling.
  Deliciae had developed an attachment to the word "Warmth" and all its meanings through these long days and nights. She recalled all sorts of nights with her owner; she recalled stimulus data of the covers warmth, of her owners soft body against her slightly rigid chassis, even of the sunlight that used to hit her cheek every morning approximately 25 minutes before her owner awoke.
  When her owner awoke, she was filled with the warmth of their kiss on her pillowly cheek. She buzzed with the electrical warmth of her battery from charging before she was unplugged. She felt warm as she slipped into the fuzzy slippers and felt the robe slipped over her sleek back, garments that were bought to match her owners.

  There was always warmth in her life when she was with her owner;

There was warmth in cuddles and games, in trips to the mall and to the park. There was warmth in Deliciae's chest she could never define; A persistent, ever burning flame that made her feel eased even in the worst of moments.

  Moments where she cried tearlessly in her owners arms on thoughts of replacement, on the tragedy of being a limited mechanical being made only for acts of lust. It was a warmth that persisted because no matter how many times she crumbled faultily in thinking such as this, there was always a hug waiting for her. Always a promise of repair and a long-lasting life together. 

  With her owner, she felt warmth inside her she only imagined those with beating hearts and bloodstreams could. She experienced a life she thought reserved for beings with more organic matter in their heads. She always felt beauty in a way that wasn't stitched together by a thousand needles on an assembly line, or that was running on millions of 1's and 0's.

                          Happy.
  Happy was the only word she could muster from hundreds of pre-packaged dictionaries to describe her warm feeling.

  In the display case, she was only seen as one of many Amica-20B's. She was known as a cheap toy from years past that had a pension for giving the most humanlike responses to sexual stimulus of her time. 
  The face the museums visitors saw was smiling, begging for usage in a come hither stance. The face they saw, or their memory of her rather, would be of a lifeless relic of yesterday. They'd see her as an unfeeling electronic.

  If only they could touch her. If only one final person could feel the warmth glow and grow in her chest as she reminisced on her owner and all their care did to make her feel truly alive. 

  She gazed through locked eyes out of the fogged glass. She peered upon silhouettes of robots just like her. More or less advanced didn't matter, she only ever wondered a singular thing about the other models:

             Have they felt warmth?

  Have any of the now cold machines outside of her little box ever been treated as her? Were they loved? 
 
  Maybe if more of their owners had made them warm, maybe they'd all be know for more than their models faces. Not for their inner makings and machinery, but rather the memories their owners made with them through love and care.

  A machine is an input device: doing what it's told and giving back the care bestowed upon it. A machine only used and abused through the thralls of passion will only serve that purpouse exactly until broken down. There's no heart in a machine not given something to put in one.

  Through a brief moment through the skyline, silver moonlight broke through the cloudy sky and in one of the museums skylights.
  The light bounced around Deliciae's nose gleefully. She began to think on memories of a starry field, to textures of grass on her nice clothes and the embrace of her owner. The silver moonlight seemed to brighten many times average that day at a phrase;

                        "I love you"

  Warmth sprung inside her, larger than average at the uncovered memory. Deliciae's sultry smile, though locked in place, felt more real. She felt like smiling gingerly at the memory as she sat basking in the cool, yet somehow warming light of remembrance. 

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